“No, just the ones in the house. Car phone’s a separate thing. We just need a record of the lines going in, so we don’t get all fouled up with—Well, it don’t make no difference. Would you sign this slip, please?” He handed it to King.
“This seems like a waste of time to me,” King said, writing. “Once they turn the boy loose…”
“We’re taking every precaution, Mr. King,” Carella said.
“Is that why there’s a policeman outside my son’s bedroom?”
“That’s right. We have no idea what the kidnapers will do next, you see.”
“It doesn’t seem to me they have much choice.” King handed the signed slip back to Cassidy.
“Thank you,” Cassidy said. “Don’t worry about this, Mr. Reynolds. You’ll have him back in a couple of hours. So long, now.” He went to the door and waved, opened it, stepped into the cold, and closed it quickly behind him.
“Reynolds, you’d better eat something now,” King said. “Inge’s ready for you in the kitchen.”
“I’m not very hungry, Mr. King.”
“Damnit, man, you’ve got to eat! Now go ahead. Jeffry will be back before you know it.”
“All right, sir, thank you.” Reynolds started out of the room.
“Would you send Detective Parker in, Mr. Reynolds?” Carella said. “He should be in the kitchen.”
“Yes, I will,” Reynolds said.
Diane King waited until he was gone. Then she said, “Mr. Carella, the kidnapers have heard by now, haven’t they?”
“They should have, Mrs. King. It’s been on all the radio and TV stations, and the afternoon papers have all put out extras on it.”
“Then it’s just a waste of time, isn’t it?”
“Well…”
“Isn’t it?”
“I don’t like to second-guess kidnapers,” Carella said. “That’s like second-guessing murderers.”
“But… you don’t think they’ll harm him, do you?”
“Of course they won’t!” King put in. “As far as they’re concerned, this is a business deal that went sour, that’s all.”
“They might harm him, Mrs. King,” Carella said calmly. “The same way a mugger will beat up a man when he finds out that the man isn’t carrying any money.”
“But that would be senseless,” King said. “I’m sure they’ll simply turn him loose the moment they hear the news.”
“Well, that’s a possibility, of course,” Carella said.
“But the other is a possibility too, isn’t it?” Diane said. “That they might first hurt him? Before they release him?”
“It’s a possibility,” Carella said.
“A stupid possibility. I can’t believe these men are stupid.”
“Kidnapers don’t have to be smart, Mr. King. Only ruthless.”
“We hadn’t thought of that, Doug. That they might hurt him before they turn him loose,” Cameron said. “It’s a definite possibility.”
“Yes,” Carella said. “And there’s also a third possibility.”
* * * *
“My name is Jeffry Reynolds,” the boy said.
Sy grabbed the front of his sweater and said, “You’re lying.”
“I’m not lying. My name is Jeff Reynolds. Hey, let go of that sweater, will you? It doesn’t belong to me. I’m supposed to—”
“You’re a lying little bastard!” Sy said, and he shoved out at Jeff, sending him sprawling across the room.
“Sy!” Kathy screamed, and she took a step toward the boy.
“Get away from him,” Sy said, moving between them.
I’m… I’m not lying,” Jeff said. Why should I lie?” He was beginning to get a little frightened now. He kept staring at Sy, not wanting to be shoved again, yet not knowing how to prevent it. Telling the truth seemed to be the wrong course of action. And yet he did not know which lie the man wanted.
“What’s your father’s name?” Sy asked.
“Ch-Charles.”
“What’s your mother’s name?”
“My mother is dead.”
“Where do you live?”
“On Mr. King’s estate.”
“Don’t call him Mr. King!” Sy shouted. “You know he’s your father.”
“My father? No. No, he’s Bobby’s father.”
Sy seized the front of the sweater again. “You little son of a bitch,” he said, “don’t get smart with me.”
“But I’m telling you the—”
“Shut up! I know you’re Bobby King, and I don’t have to—What’s that?”
“What?” Jeff said, truly frightened now. “What? What?”
“In the sweater. There. Take off that sweater.” He pulled it over Jeffs head roughly, and then turned it in his hands. A slow smile crossed his face. “So you’re Jeff Whatever-the-hell, huh?”
“Yes.”
“Sure. And the name tape in your sweater says Robert King! You lying little…”
“That’s Bobby’s sweater!” Jeff said. “Mrs. King lent it to me.”
“Tell the truth!”
“I am telling the truth.”
“What does your father do?”
“He’s a chauffeur.”
“What were you doing in the woods?”
“I was playing with Bobby.”
“And your name is Jeff, huh?”
“Yes. Yes.”
“Why didn’t you mention all this before? How come you waited for the police call?”
“I didn’t know. I thought—You said you had a gun for me.”
Sy nodded. He stood with his hands on his hips, a small dapper man badly in need of a shave, watching Jeff calmly, nodding, nodding. And then, suddenly, viciously, his hand lashed out, the palm catching Jeff across the cheek.
“You’re full of crap!” he yelled.
“Eddie, stop him!” Kathy shouted.
Sy advanced on the boy. “No snotnose is gonna try pulling the wool over my eyes!”
Jeff rushed into Kathy’s arms, and at last the tears came, tears of fear and frustration. “I am Jeff Reynolds,” he sobbed. “I am, I am…”
“Shut up!” Sy said. “Another word out of you, and you won’t be nobody!”
“Lay off, Sy,” Eddie said. “The kid’s scared.”
“What the hell do I care if he’s scared? You think he’s gonna make a fool outa—”
“I said lay off.” Sy glared at him but stopped his advance. “Let me see the sweater, Sy.” Sy tossed the sweater to Eddie. Eddie looked at the name tape. “It does say Robert King, Kathy.”
“And the boy says he borrowed it. Is that so hard to accept?”
“Yeah,” Sy said. “With five hundred grand at stake, yeah, it’s goddamn hard to accept.”